


Strategy

by thebakkat



Category: The Legend of Zelda: Hyrule Warriors
Genre: M/M, NSFW, ghirazant - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-19
Updated: 2015-05-19
Packaged: 2018-03-31 07:38:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3969555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebakkat/pseuds/thebakkat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ghirahim and Zant have been taking to playing a little "game" - the first one to make a noise loses, and Ghirahim decides he wants to play in a rather risky venue: their master's meeting tent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strategy

Zant loathed strategy briefings. He understood their purpose, obviously – his master’s army was at a crucial point in its campaign – making sure every faction’s leader was on the same page was paramount to their success.

As for why Zant had to be there, he had no real clue. He and Ghirahim had already discussed their next plan, a siege on Death Mountain, in full with Master Ganondorf. Surely they weren’t needed when explaining their next course of action to simple grunts.

Zant looked out across the large meeting table, strewn with maps, charts, and makeshift figurines to represent each division of the Master’s army. Sitting at the other end of the table, thankfully far away from Zant and his preferred company were the captains: Stalmasters, Aerolfos and Lizalfos, and – Zant sneered behind his helmet – a few Moblin generals were present, already squabbling over each other to make their voices heard.

To his right, he saw Ghirahim, chin resting on his upturned palm, tapping a gloved finger on the table with a particularly vacant expression. He seemed to be staring through the crowds before him to the wall – Zant couldn’t help but wonder what was on his mind.

Then again, given the rather amorous direction their relationship had been taking over the last few weeks, perhaps he didn’t – he was glad he had thought to bring his helmet to this meeting. A red face was not becoming of a commander.

It wasn’t long before their Master entered the strategy tent and sat at the head of the table, calling the meeting to order with his thunderous voice. Zant and Ghirahim were quick to sit at attention – the Twili had brought with him a piece of parchment and a stick of graphite so as to take down any new information – or at least, that’s what he had said, since admitting to having problems focusing would be ridiculous.

Already though, not even ten minutes into it, he felt himself drifting away from the meeting. He managed to scratch out what he knew about the mission, at least, before simply doodling on the margins of the page – nothing particularly noteworthy – mainly abstract shapes and designs meant to redirect distracting thoughts.

Speaking of distractions, he was pulled from his work by something tapping against his foot. He didn’t have to look at the sword spirit to know he was the culprit – and besides, he was still staring off into space, anyway, ever the one to keep his intentions hidden.

Zant supposed he could indulge Ghirahim for now – he was thankful for their Master’s decision to use a tablecloth before setting out the maps – no one seemed to notice as the Twili shoved a rather clunky shoe off of his right foot, electing to keep his sock on. He curled his toes against Ghirahim’s foot, rubbing against the strange fabric that covered the sword spirit’s skin, still staring diligently ahead as to not raise any suspicion.

Zant could’ve sworn he saw the demon crack a slight smile out of the corner of his eye. He swallowed – he might come to regret this.

Sure enough, the Twili felt a hand on his knee, fingertips crawling across clothed skin up, and up, and up…

Recently, the two – or Ghirahim, more accurately – had taken to playing what Zant could only call a “game.” The rules were simple: whomever was the first to crack – to make a noise of pleasure, of want – was deemed the “loser.” And the loser had to pay.

Zant was always the loser; he hated this game. He simply lacked self-control. And to take their activities somewhere public – and here of all places – a  _strategy meeting?_ In front of captains; generals; their _MASTER?!_  It was bold, and borderline foolish – it was definitely foolish.

The stakes were higher than ever now – he couldn’t refuse to play at this point.

Zant had to win.

The Twili sat up a little straighter, if that was possible at the moment, and, trying to conceal the movement of his arm in the spacious sleeves of his robe, placed his hand on Ghirahim’s inner thigh. His fingertips pressed into the flesh-exposing diamond pattern of the demon’s clothing as Ghirahim still worked his way up the Twili’s leg. Zant still scribbled away on his parchment with his other hand in a vain effort to maintain focus. He continued to massage the sword spirit, a long pinky finger tracing the edge of Ghirahim’s groin.

The demon shifted slightly in his seat – Zant thought he was gaining the upper hand, but Ghirahim was merely spreading his legs, pressing his thigh against that of the Twili.

It was a challenge.

Ghirahim’s fingers, his glove now missing through the use of magic, probed at the crotch of Zant’s breeches, searching for the slit that housed his most sensitive of parts. The added friction provided by the clothing only exacerbated the situation and he could feel his blood moving southward – Zant’s mouth opened, but he slammed it shut with clicking teeth before he could utter a single sound. He had to step up his game before he succumbed to the demon’s ministrations – Ghirahim was learning too much too quickly about his body and his particular weaknesses.

Zant placed his palm directly on the bulge between the sword spirit’s legs – it was fairly pronounced. Zant coiled inwardly at the notion that Ghirahim actually being aroused by committing such acts in public… although he would admit that there was a sort of thrill to it, so long as the continued to go undiscovered. The sword spirit’s hips rolled into his touch, somehow managing to keep his upper body still above the table – he bit his lip, though, as if to stifle a moan.

Zant continued, rolling his fingers along the length and gently squeezing it. From his peripheral vision he saw Ghirahim’s chest sink – the demon ran his free hand through his hair before resting it on the table, loudly drumming his knuckles against the wood. Zant smirked – while Ghirahim had more control over his voice, the sword spirit was simply too showy to keep himself still, to pass up a chance to goad Zant on with an arch of his back or encouraging touch, and their current predicament was just a little too limited to allow for such a thing.

Looking out at the table, luckily, their Master was still conversing with a Lizalfos captain – something about the intricacies of the plan had been lost in translation. However, Zant could see that every so often gazes would shift to the two of them – sometimes it was a brief flick of a Lizalfos’ eye, or a questioning glance from one of the Moblins, but it was becoming clear to Zant that they weren’t going unnoticed.

One time Zant thought it was Ganondorf, who must’ve averted his gaze almost immediately – the Twili couldn’t tell either way, but the Gerudo’s expression was not favorable. Had it really been so obvious as to what they were doing? Ghirahim clearly didn’t care – the invasive hand at Zant’s crotch was grinding into him, the demon’s palm pressed against the slit as his fingers rubbed at the area beneath, teasing Zant’s concealed privates from outside their sheath.

The Twili inhaled sharply through his nose, but tried his best to remain calm. Ghirahim was definitely crafty – his actions were generating an uncomfortable pressure and heat, that would only get worse if he continued. He was already getting rather wet – his breeches and robes would be soaked through soon if he didn’t end this here. He was desperate – he turned his gentle ministrations into strokes against Ghirahim’s arousal, pumping it through the fabric.

Ghirahim’s eyes widened, his grip on the table dangerously tight. The demon’s white lips parted slightly, a ragged breath slipping past them. Zant had him. He had won – just a little more…

Suddenly, pain – terrible, crushing pain. Ghirahim must have decided to end the game as well, abruptly grinding his heel into Zant’s unprotected foot. A strangled noise was torn from the Twili, gaining the attention of everyone present; Ganondorf’s gaze was particularly penetrating. Quickly, Zant retracted the mouth parts of his helmet and raised his previously occupied hand to his mouth, feigning a coughing fit. He wanted to melt into the floor. If he had been stricken down dead by lightning right there he would have no objection.

Ghirahim sat back in his seat, as if to collect himself.

_Cheater!_

“Please excuse him, Master – I apologize on behalf of the Twili for the rude interruption – it seems some dust must have gotten trapped in that hideous helmet of his. If it pleases you, I will take him to get some water and recover.”

_Filthy cheater!_

He didn’t even get a chance to hear Ganondorf’s answer before he felt a hand on his shoulder, and then, after a brief period of darkness, the sword spirit had teleported them both into Ghirahim’s chambers. Zant threw his helmet from his shoulders; it clattered against the floor.

“What in the nine hells was that?! You embarrassed me in front of everyone! In front of our Master!” He paced back and forth, a feat made difficult by the throb in his groin, the heavy wetness of his breeches and his missing shoe. His head swum in both fury and arousal – he felt an overwhelming need to either snap the sword spirit in half or rut him into the wall.

Maybe both.

Ghirahim sat poised at the foot of his bed, legs draped over the edge. He watched the Twili in amusement.

“I had to grant us leave somehow from that dreadful meeting.” He eyed Zant coyly, a smirk crawling across his face; his dexterous tongue poked out from the side of his mouth. “After all, you owe me a reward, and I simply couldn’t wait for it any longer.”

Zant stopped and snapped his head to face Ghirahim.

“I beg your pardon?  _You_  are owed a reward?”

“Well, yes, of course. You were the first to make a sound. Don’t you remember the rules?”

Zant hissed and bared his teeth at the demon, his hands balling into fists. The gall; the pure, unbridled gall of this fool… “If you think that ‘victory’ was well-deserved, I-”

“-come now, on your knees.” Ghirahim quickly made his outfit disappear though magic, his arousal quite far along already from their ‘game.’ “Make haste, my Twili, and remember what I said about those teeth of yours – they are best left to yourself.”

He couldn’t believe it; he simply couldn’t believe it. Zant had half a mind to leave the sword spirit there to handle himself.

Instead though, he stayed. An idea was brewing within him – a different sort of game.

“Fine.” Zant said, shuffling off his other shoe and socks. “You’ll have your reward. But not without a penalty. You understand, I hope? That I am owed that much?”

Ghirahim leaned back on his elbows, curious. “What, exactly, did you have in mind?”

Zant moved to the demon, propping him back up so that he sat straight.

“Put your hands behind your back.”

His voice was deep; commanding, like that he used when victorious in battle. Ghirahim obliged, but not without a questioning look. Zant bent low, to meet his gaze. His amber eyes were cold and flat, without their usual luster.

“You are not to touch me, or yourself. Your reward will be yours when I say so, demon.”

Ghirahim mulled the thought over briefly before smiling, licking his lips. “Hmm. Very interesting. I suppose I could indulge you just this once – you’ve been hitting a bit of a losing streak recently. It’s the least I could do.” He winked, that tongue flicking from his mouth again.

Zant moved behind the demon, tying his wrists with a makeshift rope tied from his cast-off socks. He knew Ghirahim was more than capable of breaking free from the bond, but it was more of a sentiment than an actual attempt at restraint. He pulled off the rest of his clothing, being sure to reveal himself slowly, torturously so, and maintain eye contact with the demon. He was still throbbing, his slit swollen and dripping wet, but he could put it out of his mind for just a little while longer, to facilitate his plan.

He kissed Ghirahim’s lips only briefly before kneeling before him, placing his hands on the demon’s inner thighs. Zant’s tongue flashed over the cock just for a moment, lapping at the tip. Ghirahim relished in the newfound freedom to vocalize – he whined, rolling his hips at the contact. Zant continued to tease, licking a stripe up the shaft before connecting to its slit. He circled his tongue around the tip before taking it in his mouth, only slightly; he sucked at the head before pulling back, kissing down the length. He settled at the demon’s sack, eagerly sucking the sensitive part into his mouth – he let it fall from his mouth over and over with an audible pop.

Ghirahim’s back arched, his toes curling as he moaned. Breathy sounds fell from the sword spirit as Zant worked; he moved back to the tip, pushing it past his lips once more. This time, though, he proceeded to take the cock, his tongue running along the bottom of the shaft. He groaned a bit as the pits on his lips were stretched, the sensitive flesh beneath making contact with Ghirahim’s strangely cool skin – the only warmth coming from him was being conducted from the Twili’s own body. He dragged his head back slowly with each pass, drinking in the demon’s sighs as he took his time with him.

After some time, Zant increased his pace, bobbing his head as Ghirahim’s legs shook against his hands. He could tell when the demon was close to finishing, and when he felt the familiar twitch in his mouth, he stopped. Zant opened his jaw wide enough so that no part of his mouth made contact with Ghirahim, and pulled back. He looked up at the demon, whose hair was disheveled from tossing his head back so many times in pleasure, a blush dusting his pale skin.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Zant didn’t answer him, but stood. He pressed his hands to Ghirahim’s chest, shoving him backwards. The Twili kneaded at the skin below his own dripping slit, groaning in relief as his two erections were freed, wriggling about after having been trapped in their sheath for so long. He took Ghirahim’s legs again, this time draping them over his shoulders. He held one of his cocks in his hand, so as to resist his impulses to stroke the demon, as the other probed at Ghirahim’s entrance.

Another noise escaped the demon as he eyed Zant again; Ghirahim laughed.

“Well, that’s terribly impolite;  you’re not even going to prepare me? You’re lucky we do this so often.” Sure enough, thanks to his appendages’ natural slickness, Zant had no real issue entering, so long as he took time for Ghirahim to adjust around him.

In a few moments, he had begun thrusting, aiming for that elusive sweet spot; he made sure to make contact with every movement, in and out. Ghirahim cried out with almost every breath, crooning as Zant’s cock twisted and writhed to fill him – even though he’d had the Twili quite a few times already, each time felt completely different thanks to his impressive flexibility. He throbbed – he was so tantalizingly close to the edge – he just needed Zant to touch him, to stroke him – maybe even just once, he was so close.

Without warning, though, Zant retreated from the demon, only to chuckle to himself;  he then positioned both of his appendages headily against Ghirahim’s opening, pushing in slowly. The demon’s head rolled back, keening as he was stretched and filled more than he had been in a very long time. The girth of the two cocks together was something else – enough to make him drool – and when they moved – Ghirahim thought he might cry.

Zant pushed in to the hilt – a curse slipped from the demon through gritted teeth as he pulled out, slowly, before ramming back in. He continued this agonizing pace, the pressure around him intoxicating. His nails dug into Ghirahim as he started to speed up – a throaty moan was his reward. He continued, the sword’s legs quivering against him; the Twili was getting closer to his own climax as well. He bucked into him, skin slapping against skin as he grew frantic, the wonderful tightness growing as Ghirahim clenched around him.

Ghirahim’s voice grew higher in pitch as he went, his mouth upturned in pleasure, his brow furrowed, and his back fixed in a permanent arch. His cock was positively engorged, pulsing and lifting against his body every few seconds. He was ready, and Zant knew that; he halted his thrusting, holding completely still.

Ghirahim half-huffed-half-moaned in frustration. “No, no, no - you  _must_  finish this.”

Zant looked down at him, his head cocked to the side.

“I’m sorry? Are you done? So soon?” A long finger traced along the sword spirit’s shaft – Zant smirked, delighted by the way it twitched against his touch, and also by the positively filthy words that floated to his ears. “That is not very becoming of a winner; being outlasted by a  _loser_  such as myself.”

Ghirahim narrowed his eyes. While he was quite thrilled to see this side of the Twili taking charge with him, the need to release was becoming unbearable at this point. “Is that what all the delay is about? Really? Come on, Zant, just-”

“-you can have your reward. It is really quite simple. You just have to tell me.”

“…tell you what, exactly?”

“That I am the winner.”

“You’re serious. Piss off.”

“Admit that I am the rightful winner, and that you cheated.”

“You are a child.”

“I see. Well…” Zant pulled out of Ghirahim just slightly, eliciting a whine. “I can take care of myself just fine – at this rate, I would feel the same satisfaction from my own hand as I would from you. But you, Ghirahim – you _need_ me. Even if you broke free from your restraint, you could never, by your own means, feel what you feel now,” he thrust again for emphasis to another stifled swear, “-that which has you quaking beneath me. I am the winner.”

Ghirahim glowered at the Twili, but only for a moment – he stifled a groan as he throbbed again. He rolled his head back against the bedsheets. “…you win.”

“What was that? I did not hear you.” He retreated just a bit further…

The demon rolled his eyes and seethed. “I, the Demon Lord Ghirahim, am a no-good,  _salacious_ ,  _filthy_  cheater, and you, kingly, honorable Zant, are the rightful victor.  _Long_  may you reign.” His voice was heavy with sarcasm, but there was definitely a note of want.

“Hm… You could have stood to embellish a bit more, but I suppose that will do. This time.”

Zant returned to thrusting into the demon – it only took a few moments before he himself was ready to release. He wrapped his fingers delicately around Ghirahim’s erection, already wet with anticipation, sweeping a thumb over the head; he timed his strokes with the thrusts so that they reached their high together. Ghirahim arched again, an unearthly moan echoing off the walls as he came; his muscles spasmed and jerked beyond his control as he spilled forth onto his chest and stomach.

Zant rolled his hips into Ghirahim, continuing to stimulate the sword spirit through his climax – he drove the demon’s hips into his own as his cocks grew unbearably hot, the pressure in his stomach reaching its peak. He released, bucking wildly as Ghirahim continued to wail, tongue hanging from his gaping mouth. Their voices joined as he filled Ghirahim, leaking from between the sword spirit’s legs once there was just no remaining space inside.

When they had both wound down a bit, Zant retreated, his penes slowly returning to their sheath, still flushed red and incredibly sensitive. He reached beneath Ghirahim, undoing the bond on his wrists – the demon immediately pulled at his arms, bringing the Twili crashing down on top of him. They crawled back against the elaborate decorative pillows placed at the headboard, clinging together; Ghirahim was still panting, eyes half-lidded, and lazily pressed his wet lips to Zant’s – an unspoken ‘thank you.’

Zant’s gangly arms encircled Ghirahim’s waist. He still harbored a small bit of frustration towards the demon regarding his lack of etiquette, but for now, he could be content with tiring him out, so long as he could enjoy these sorts of relaxing, quiet moments – they were his favorite part of their involvement together, though he’d be hard-pressed to admit it.

He nuzzled the sword spirit’s forehead with the pits at the corners of his mouth, finding the coolness of his skin to be quite refreshing. Zant placed a kiss of his own on the bridge of Ghirahim’s nose before brushing away the demon’s curtain of hair and softly pressing his lips to the diamond-shaped tattoo on the demon’s cheek, an object of curiosity – though Zant would never dare to ask about it.

Ghirahim sighed, resting his head against the Twili’s chest. The spirit didn’t need to sleep as often as mortals did, but he could definitely use some rest after this excursion. He had always taken great delight in goading the Twili on, pushing his limits – he knew Zant was easily frustrated, and Ghirahim found his struggles to be somewhat amusing. Tonight’s incident was particularly rewarding – the demon rather liked this dominating side of Zant, and it was surprisingly easy to bring out such assertiveness, even if it meant getting under his skin a bit.

“Cheaters never prosper,” indeed.


End file.
